Souls Through Time (EzioxOC/DesmondxOC)

Chapter 44 - Claire

September 13th 2012, 9:00 am

Claire hadn't been sure what to expect when she suggested that she and Desmond spar. They had both spent months in Animus time, training under the shadows of their ancestors—warriors with skills honed over lifetimes. But this was the first time they would truly put those skills to the test together, outside of the simulated world. As she made her way down to the warehouse's main floor, she felt a mixture of anticipation and anxiety churning in her chest.

She had chosen her attire with practicality in mind: a fitted black tank top that allowed her full range of motion, paired with worn, loose cargo pants that cinched at the ankles. The outfit, while simple, allowed her to move with ease, the fabric whispering against her skin with each step. She had pulled her hair back into a tight braid to keep it out of her face, but a few loose strands clung to her temples, damp with the nervous energy that coursed through her.

Desmond was already waiting in the center of the room, stretching out in the dim, cool air. He wore a simple gray T-shirt that clung to his shoulders, emphasizing the muscle he'd built since they first met. His sweatpants were similarly practical, hanging low on his hips as he moved through his stretches, the fabric swishing softly. He looked every bit like the man he had become—stronger, more confident—but there was still a certain uncertainty in the way he glanced up at her as she approached, like he was trying to gauge just how this would play out.

She took a deep breath, rolling her shoulders as she crossed the space between them, each footstep echoing faintly in the cavernous warehouse. "So, are you ready for this, Desmond?" she asked, injecting a note of challenge into her voice. It was easier to lean on teasing than to admit just how much she'd been looking forward to this.

Desmond straightened, giving her a crooked smile that made her pulse skip. "As ready as I'll ever be, I guess. Though, I have a feeling you're going to wipe the floor with me."

A smirk tugged at the corner of Claire's lips, and she crossed her arms over her chest, tilting her head as she studied him. "Well, I do have a bit of a head start," she replied, the faintest hint of pride creeping into her tone. "Ten-plus years of experience tends to give you an edge."

His eyebrows shot up, and he let out a low whistle. "Okay, so I'm definitely at a disadvantage. But I've picked up a few tricks of my own. Don't go easy on me."

She couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up, though there was a nervous edge to it. "I don't plan to, Desmond. Just try to keep up."

They squared off, each taking a ready stance, and Claire felt the weight of the moment settle over her. It had been so long since she'd sparred with anyone outside of the Animus—so long since she'd faced a real opponent, flesh and blood instead of simulated memories. But as she met Desmond's gaze, she could see the same flicker of uncertainty there, mixed with determination, and it reassured her that maybe they were on more even ground than she thought.

She moved first, darting in with a swift jab toward his midsection, testing his reflexes. He sidestepped, the motion surprisingly fluid, but she followed up with a quick feint, forcing him to adjust. Desmond was fast—faster than she had expected—but his movements lacked the precision that came with years of training. She could see the way he second-guessed himself, hesitating just long enough for her to slip past his guard and tap the side of his ribs with her fist.

He grunted, stumbling back a step, and she saw a flicker of frustration in his expression. But there was a grin there too, one that made her heart do a strange little flip. "Not bad, but you've got to do better than that," she teased, trying to ignore the heat that flushed through her as she circled him.

Desmond shot her a look that was half-amused, half-challenging. "Oh, don't worry, I'm just getting warmed up."

He lunged forward, closing the distance between them in a heartbeat, and for a moment, she found herself taken aback by the sudden intensity in his movements. He caught her arm, twisting it behind her in a move that Ezio might have been proud of, but she had spent too many years fighting to let herself be caught that easily. With a twist of her own, she broke free, slipping beneath his arm and reversing the hold, pinning him to her chest for a brief second.